Housemate

As the upcoming tour approached, the dance troupe suddenly revoked my position as the lead dancer.

Anxious to get an explanation in person, I lost my footing due to my distracted state and tumbled down the stairs.

While enduring the sharp pain and preparing to call for emergency services, a notification popped up on my phone screen:

“Redwood Dance Troupe: Welcome our new lead dancer, Averil Wells, and our generous sponsor, Julian Ford."

The accompanying photo featured two smiling faces—my husband of seven years, whom I had secretly married, and his pampered mistress.

Julian had his arm wrapped around Averil's waist as he placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. Meanwhile, Averil clung to Julian's neck, her face radiating shyness and delight.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and posted a photo of our marriage certificate in the comments section:

"Is your troupe’s new production called the Union of Bastards?"

Before long, Julian called me.

"Victoria Dean, what stupid thing are you doing now? How many times do I have to tell you that Averil and I are just putting on a show."

I sniffled. "Julian, what gives you the right to take away my lead dancer role?"

There was a brief silence on the other end. "Are you part of Redwood?"

After a pause, he added nonchalantly, "Averil wanted the lead role in this tour as her birthday gift. I didn’t realize that role was yours. Go online and clarify immediately. Tell everyone that the marriage certificate was doctored."

I found it laughable.

He didn’t even know where I worked but remembered Averil’s birthday gift request.

"And then? Why would I fake a marriage certificate?"

Julian replied calmly, "You can say you’re just a fan of mine."

"Julian Ford, what do you take me for?"

He sighed softly on the other end. "Victoria, we’ve been married for seven years. We’re practically an old married couple. Averil is young; there’s no need to compete with her."

He must have forgotten that I married him before finishing college. Though we’d been married for seven years, I was only a year older than Averil.

"Julian, I fell down the stairs, and my leg hurts."

"Victoria, it’s just an apology and a clarification. It’s not that hard."

Julian sounded genuinely disappointed.

"When did you turn into such a shameless liar?"

Drip. Drip.

Tears, mingled with blood from my nose, splattered onto the back of my hand. Pressing a hand over my mouth, I hung up the call.

Julian called again, but I immediately put his number on silent.

I called for an ambulance myself. When the paramedics arrived, they asked if I had any family to accompany me.

"No," I replied numbly, tilting my head back. "They're all gone."

On the way to the hospital, Julian sent me a message, "Victoria, Averil was so upset by you that she fainted. You need to come to the hospital immediately to apologize in person. Bring an appropriate gift; there will be reporters present. Don’t worry about your reputation. This mess is your fault to begin with."

My hands trembled as I typed a two-word reply, “Keep dreaming."

Then I turned off my phone, shutting myself away in solitude.

While waiting in the hospital hallway for my X-ray results, I unexpectedly heard a familiar voice:

"Mr. Watson, I’m Victoria’s boyfriend. If there’s anything she needs moving forward, feel free to contact me directly."

I looked up, locking eyes with Julian as he walked in.

His steps faltered for a moment, his movements stiff, but he quickly acted as if he didn’t recognize me. Continuing his conversation with Benjamin Watson, he passed me without a second glance.

The faint citrus scent clinging to him twisted my stomach in knots.

I almost bolted, but Julian turned back.

He seemed to have rushed over, and when he noticed I was still there, a flicker of exasperation crossed his face.

"Victoria, have you thought it through?"

"I told you to keep dreaming." I pushed past him, limping away in the opposite direction.

I felt Julian's gaze linger on my injured leg for a moment, growing colder by the second.

"Victoria, are you really stooping to this kind of ploy just to avoid apologizing?"

I didn’t want to respond. All I wanted was to get away from this hallway, thick with the scent of Averil’s perfume.

A large hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back.

I stumbled, barely able to steady myself as a sharp pain shot through my leg.

"Ah!"

I couldn’t hold back a cry of pain.

Julian’s brow furrowed in irritation, his tone laced with displeasure. "You’ve really let me down."

With practiced ease, he reached into my pocket and took my phone.

"Give it back!"

I stretched my arm to snatch it, but Julian, clearly annoyed, gave me a firm shove.

"Hank, hold her."

The bodyguard, tall and imposing, pinned me effortlessly. I couldn’t break free.

"Julian Ford!!"